


But IDFC

by dreammade



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kavinsky is his own warning, M/M, Ronan makes Bad Choices, Slow Burn, cabeswater is a chill forest but not a magical one : adam does not sacrifice himself to it probably, comedy maybe, gansey didn't die when he was young but he is still Deathly Allergic to wasps, i am actual pynch trash, k & r don't pull shit from their dreams, the mature rating is for later probably just to be safe, they do not know noah but he is mentioned, this is going to end one of three ways and yes they are all pretty cliche
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7042186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreammade/pseuds/dreammade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parrish has Ronan's Type™ written in the dust on his fragile-ass face. Kavinsky knows right off that the odds are in his favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handsey with Gansey

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Trust, I wish my brain was the one to cook up these characters (especially Ronan Lynch) but all credit for them and any other canon content belongs exclusively to Maggie Stiefvater. I merely borrowed them for a bit. Any mistakes are my own. This work is unbeta'd and I am not really a fan of revision but I will fix mistakes as I catch them.
> 
> This work is based off [this](http://gaylordgarbage.tumblr.com/post/145001125720) prompt **gaylordgarbage** posted on tumblr and very graciously let me use.

Gansey is late. Class doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes but considering they left Monmouth at the same time and Ronan has been sat at this stupid picnic table for five minutes with no sign of the Pig – Gansey is _considerably_ late. Ronan’s headphones are blaring twice as loud for his absence.

There are only two explanations for this: Gansey is dead in a ditch somewhere (not that likely), or the piece of shit Camaro broke down again (pretty fucking likely). He weighs the pros and cons of checking his phone for a full song before he realizes he left it back at Monmouth. Here’s hoping it’s not the dead in the ditch bit. He doesn’t want to be batting worst case scenarios this early in the morning but he’s made the mistake of assuming safety of the likes before. There are Bad Things out there in the world.

He’s seen them.

He’s one of them.

He reminds himself that Gansey has traipsed across Europe by himself and survived just fine. Between the two of them, Ronan’s more likely to attract danger anyway. This knowledge does little to sooth the irritation at leaving him to his own devices in a world where there are wasps and murderers and legions of devils. It doesn’t seem wise; especially when all those things are the same to Gansey. Ronan supposes that’s his bad. Even if his friend had tried to get a hold of him, he’d be none-the-wiser ( _ha!_ ) and he never is one for acting wise to begin with unless there’s a ‘like a’ before and an ‘ass’ after it.

It takes the static lull in the middle of two songs for him to get pissed.

Ronan’s going to bust a gasket. The hell has his life come to that _he’s_ the one sitting on Aglionby’s shitty campus _waiting for Gansey to show the fuck up_. If the Pig doesn’t come rumbling into the parking lot by the time the next song ends he’s leaving and he’s going to skip every single one of his classes tomorrow just to spite him. Latin can suck it.

A breeze plucks one of his earbuds promptly from his right side. Ronan’s so angry he doesn’t even notice that said wind has grown fingers with a forearm attached and is talking to him until the obnoxiousness of Kavinsky’s presence overwhelms his senses. Anger must attract danger.

“…sening to me, Lynch? I’ll fuck you up.”

Ronan pulls the other earpiece out, turning his attention just slightly to the other boy with purposeful and effortless laziness, as if he hadn’t just been seething to burn down the entirety of both Virginias. He might settle for punching Kavinsky in the teeth if he touches him again. “What.”

“Trouble in paradise? You’re not licking III’s boots this morning.”

“Go away.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.”

“Go away.”

“Is it because the new kid’s gettin’ handsey with Gansey?”

Ronan exhales. His voice does not portray the strange emotion that lodges in his chest, dull green. “You mean Parrish?” It takes an exponential amount of will power not to ask what the fuck he means by _handsey with Gansey_ – though his imagination does travel to some Bad Things. Kavinsky explains anyway.

“Sure do. Saw ‘em hitched up by the side of the road on the way in. Parrish was elbows deep in your precious Dickdickdick’s orange shitbox. You didn’t know?”

Ronan did not know. To be fair, he probably has about fifteen text messages that say the same thing in much lovelier, more intelligent words on his phone back at Monmouth. “Did you need something, K?”

“Nah, just bored, Lynch. Entertain me.”

“Go away.”

He does not go away. In fact, he plops himself down on the table top just a couple inches too close for Ronan’s comfort. Kavinsky is unbothered. “You know – I would have thought that _you’d_ be the one sucking off the new kid. Parrish has Ronan's Type™ written in the dust on his fragile-ass face.”

“I don’t have a type.”

He isn’t lying. He doesn’t like to lie. That is not to say Ronan hasn’t noticed the fragile face in mention, or the aforementioned hands attached to it's owner, either. It’s hard for anyone not to notice. The fact that Gansey has been openly curious-lusting over what Parrish’s study methods are ( _‘did you know he’s really quite intelligent, Ronan’_ ) just brings that fact to light. He would probably even go as far as to admit (only to himself) ‘pretty’ is a word one might assign to Adam Parrish if one’s Type was delicate cheekbones and freckles and nice hands. Which his is clearly not. Since he said so – and Ronan Lynch doesn’t believe in lying.

“Willing to bet on it?” Kavinsky knows right off where this conversation is going and furthermore that the odds are in his favour. He speaks as if he’s still bored; as if the true brilliance of his idea hasn’t yet occurred to him, but there's a glimmer in his hollow eyes that says otherwise, if Ronan would just pay attention.

Ronan does not pay attention. His eyes are trained to the parking lot again, awaiting Gansey’s arrival with renewed annoyance. “Bet on it?”

“Fifty bucks says you fuck him in a week.”

“No.”

“Fine – a hundred.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Then pray tell your motifuckingvation, Lynch.”

Ronan inhales slow. There is not much that motivates him and even less that he wants from Kavinsky. There is one thing, though. He exhales.

“Keys to the Mitsu.”

“You want my car?!” Is a tumble of amusement off Kavinsky’s tongue. The way Ronan sees it, when someone buggers the gears like Joseph Kavinsky trying to throw third into fourth on a drag, it isn’t entirely fair to claim ownership. If anything Kavinsky belongs to the Mistu but Ronan doesn’t intend to argue that point.

“I bet the keys to the Mitsu that I can get his number.”

It isn’t as if K can’t afford to buy another – or fifty other Mitsubishis. It is not _really_ **that** big deal but the idea of sitting behind the wheel of the devil’s personalized vehicle and not completely fucking the up switch gears does strike the match of Ronan Lynch’s appeal.

“Keys. Fine - but...” There's a pause for dramatic effect or something equally stupid.

Ronan thinks about pushing him backward off the table.

“...I doubt Poverty Boy even has a phone. And a date just won’t do, either. It doesn't add up to the same sum, Lynch. We’re talking high stakes, no limit Texas Hold ‘Em.”

Ronan’s losing patience with every second that passes. He can hear the Pig’s engine halfway down the road. “Get to the fuckin’ point, Kavinsky.”

“Point blank, fucker: I'll bet the keys to the Mistu that he - no, wait, wait - that _you_ fall in love with him before my Fourth of July party.”

That gets his attention. Ronan actually turns his head to look at him full on, and barks something between a scoff and a laugh because _love_ – now that’s fucking ridiculous. Ronan Lynch doesn’t have a Type, therefore Ronan Lynch doesn’t fall in love; how’s that for a math equation. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t fall in love.”

“Nothing to lose, then.”

“Whatever.”

“We have a deal?”

“I said whatever. You want us to spit in our hands and shake on it?”

“Now that’s just childish. I much prefer my contracts in blood.”

“Demons do.” Ronan pulls at his necktie a bit harshly to loosen it and stands up just as Gansey pulls into the parking lot. Sure enough, Adam Parrish is seating shotgun. “Later, shitsalad.”

“Not so fast, Lynch. I have a condition.”

Ronan’s teeth grind. “I didn’t realize there was fine print.”

“It’s only fair that _I_ get something if I win.”

“The fuck you want?” he echoes his request from earlier. “The keys to my BMW?”

“Nah, nah. What I want is for you to break his heart.”

Ronan doesn’t get it right away – and when it does, he rocks back on the heels of his feet. It seems a bit steep; cruel even, despite the whole situation seeming something out of a poor budget rom-com that his mother would love. Would _have_ loved. His eyes are molten slivers, watching Gansey and Parrish’s path to the entrance get intercepted by one of the rowing team members. ( _‘Ganseyboy!’_ ) They do look rather chummy. The dull green hollow between his lungs buds bright green grass. His gaze flits away from where his friend is sending silent question marks over his teammate’s shoulder and making what looks like polite excuses to navigate himself out of small talk ( _‘Have you met Parrish?’_ ); Ronan pushes all things green and growing out of his mind and considers the offer again for second. These things only end badly when people succumb to the plotline. Life is not a rom-com. Adam Parrish is a safe bet. _Gansey would hate this_. What’s more, this whole ordeal is likely Kavinsky poor attempt at **payback** for Ronan’s blatant rejections. Who’s being childish now? He shrugs his acceptance once again. “Whatever.”

Gansey has managed to pull away from his peer, Adam still stuck to his side. He says “Ronan” like ‘what’s going on’ and adds another question mark onto his name with a look in a form of sublty that he has only ever seen on other Ganseys. There is mild panic there too, Gansey is afraid if he doesn't intervene soon enough Bad Things will conspire. Ronan takes personal offense, despite how Gansey's unknowing accuracy.

K cocks a gun-shaped hand and aims it at the side of Ronan’s head. “Until next time, mofo.”

Ronan flips him the bird as he saunters backward away from him and toward where Prokopenko’s waiting by the door, ever the patient dog. He regrets not pushing him off the table when he had the chance.

“Ronan?” is Gansey again, this time with a less subtle, verbal question mark.

“Careful, your face is going to stay that way.”

“What was…?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Please tell me you aren’t - ”

“Then don’t ask, Dad.”

Gansey makes a disgruntled noise that only makes the likeness of a father more apparent but he backs down, piping up about Ronan’s crooked tie and rumbled appearance instead. ( _‘Would it kill you to try, Ronan.’_ ‘It just might, Dick.’ _‘Don’t call me that.’_ ) The panic subsides. The greenness does, too, if only slightly.

Adam Parrish walks along, awkwardly holding himself upright like the wind might knock him over if it catches him off guard or at just the right angle. His subtlety rivals that of a Gansey but it is not lost on Ronan (who, unfortunately for Adam is well versed in said subtlety) that he is observing the conversation closely. Ronan Lynch observes him and his perfectly display of tie tying right back. His own subtlety is openly transparent. Let Adam Parrish know he's being sized up.

"How rude of me," Gansey stumbles gracefully into his politician voice, having been caught in the middle of two observations and quite capable of making his own. They do not need an introduction but one is provided. Probably with the intention of reminding Ronan to be civil. "Adam, this is Ronan Lynch. I apologize wholy in advance for his behavior. It's a work in progress." There is warning in the words but it's downed in clear fondess. "Ronan, this is Adam Parrish. He's quite good with his hands - "

Ronan smirks at the implication, mostly because Adam blushes at it. Gansey rolls his eyes and immediately re-words.

" - He is skilled at fixing motor vehicles. We like Adam." There is more warning attached to this statement than the previous.

Ronan flicks a glance at Adam again. Something shy of a linger. _We like Adam._ There's a dark mirth to his smile.

"Speak for yourself."

Fifty five more days. No problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter is really just to set the major plot point - so bear with me. This is going to be Slow Burn™ pynch. As mentioned above, any mistakes made are my own. This work is unbeta'd and I am not really a fan of revision but I will fix mistakes as I catch them.
> 
> Feel free to follow me or direct any questions to **[dreammade](http://dreammade.tumblr.com)** or **[isntyet](http://isntyet.tumblr.com)** on tumblr if you don't feel like leaving a comment. The first is my trc  & tfc account and the latter is my personal.
> 
> Any feedback is much appreciated. Have a lovely day! xx


	2. Guilt, Love and Other Concepts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Someone is interested in him?_ Gansey is trying to set him up. Gansey wants Adam to go on a double date with him and his waitress. Ronan has suddenly become very interested in something in the parking lot outside their window. It seems odd to him that he can’t figure out how all these things add up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same disclaimer as the previous chapter.
> 
> Breaks in the chapter with " - " indicate a prospective change.  
> Breaks with " ... " indicate a small time lapse.

Adam can’t help but feel a bit like a child, left out of a conversation about himself. Memories of listening to his parents complain through the thin walls about all of their Adam sized regrets force themselves to the surface. He tries to draw up courage from somewhere, shoving them back down. He is not a flower; he will not blossom under Gansey’s sudden affection nor wither in the looming shade of Ronan Lynch. He is his own man. He has a spine, he’s sure.

The pain he’s felt in it is evidence enough of that.

Acting as he is now, though, it is most likely not apparent.

His shoulders straighten a bit, bared against an ember-y longing for the ease in which Ronan and Gansey coexist.

Or even the ease in which Gansey forced himself to entertain his teammate a couple minutes ago. Forced is not exactly the right word, but it's close. It has been painfully clear to him since the very beginning of his life here that **GanseyAndRonan** are an entity and everyone else is decidedly outside of it. While each person seems to have a place for Gansey, it is obvious to anyone with eyes (and probably some without) that he holds a rare place with Ronan and Ronan with him, right back. Adam gets the impression there is no place in there for him. It is not an unfamiliar sting but it feels harsher in the wake of realizing how badly he wishes there was; of how easily Gansey makes him feel like he belongs on his empty side.

Maybe his spine is an illusion brought on by the belief that it should exist. A false spine just like his childhood’s false God.

Gansey so easily tears a hole in the conversation for him after the unnecessary, sloppy introductions are made. He's surprised to find that Ronan does nothing to box him out. It appears that Gansey’s opinion on Adam goes farther with Ronan than he would have thought it to. Especially after the underhanded comment that Gansey should only speak for himself. Acceptance has never been so unconditional. Ronan’s observational gaze does not lead him to believe it is as simple as it appears. Still, Adam finds himself constantly expecting malice or boredom when his eyes accidentally catch Ronan’s over Gansey’s shoulder but he finds neither.

There is a challenge, though. It intrigues him, despite himself. _Hm._

Molten eyes and a smile made for war. Everybody says so.

He is suddenly and entirely certain the reputation falls short of the truth.

 

...

 

Afternoon comes, and with it a class Adam shares with neither of his new comrades. He spends all of it contemplating why it is hard not to come up from GanseyAndRonan's bazaar world and end up wanting to dive back under the surface. He copies down notes word for word out of habit but pays no attention to the lessons, too busy turn that morning over and over and over again until he finds both of them outside of Borden House. It takes him the duration of the walk from the main building to realize they're waiting _for him_. He spends all of Latin wondering  _why_.

Adam Parrish is a self-made man. He works hard for what he needs and harder for what he wants. He mulls over whether or not making friends with Gansey - and by extension Ronan - is something that he should want. Then promptly decides that he doesn’t care if he should.

He does.

He will not feel guilty for it.

 

-

 

**Day Fourteen.**

Adam becomes as permanent a fixture in their lives as the poorly placed refrigerator in the bathroom.

Ronan would argue that he’s not nearly as useful. But in the fourteen days since Parrish started hanging around the Camaro has busted itself fives and a half (flat tires aren't really a fault of the Pig) times, almost as if it were trying to prove otherwise. Ronan does not appreciate it.

Gansey, however, worships Adam.

Ronan wonders if he might set funds aside to erect a church in Adam Parrish’s honor just so that Gansey can pray to his 'angelic facial structure' and 'magnificent handiness' elsewhere, in places Ronan doesn’t have to listen to it. He does not think of this hypothetical church as a place for him to confess his own Adam related sins.

If Ronan appreciates the way he handles tools, or accidentally smears oil across his freckled forehead it is merely because it is admirable, or amusing.

If Adam shows up in his dreams, it is purely due to long hours of exposure not fondness.

If he offers to bring Adam to pick up his Aglionby uniform from the dry cleaners it is not because he wants to spend time alone with him but because he is the reason it was dirty in the first place. If the reason it was dirty in the first place is because Ronan pushed him into a man made lake during a fight it was purely for the purpose of winning said fight.

It is  _not_ because he wanted to know what Adam looked like dripping wet and angry.

It **might be** because those things feel an awful lot like he might be inching ever steadily closer to losing, but that would be stupid. So, it's decidedly  _not_ that.

 

-

 

There is nothing that makes a person appear more seemingly productive than dry cleaning hanging from a hook in the backseat of a slick, mid-sized sedan.

Something about picking up dry cleaning gives Adam the impression of being older. _Mature_. He thinks that any day which starts with the likes of such an action always appears **important**. As if it were an off handed pit stop on his way to someplace that mattered. As if he could be the kind of man who calls to talk business and ushers the other party off the line by claiming _let me give you a call back, John, I need to pick up the dry cleaning for the function tonight_. He could imagine saying it into a Bluetooth while checking the rear view mirrors as he sped far passed the Henrietta exit sign.

Though he supposes if he were anything like that kind of man (that is to say, anything like Gansey) someone else would be picking his laundry up for him.

He wonders idly if Gansey has ever picked up his own dry cleaning or if the Ganseys hire someone else for the task.

 _Maybe,_ he thinks bitterly, _they simply have someone on staff at their mansion like estate that was capable of minting the clothes,_ or  _they simply buy fully new attire for each new event_. He can't imagine Helen wearing the same dress twice.

Adam is too engrossed in this sour line of thought to catch the lyrics of Ronan’s loud music or his silent glances. If Adam had been paying any mind, he might have known their fight from earlier was forgiven. As it is, his gaze lingers out the passenger window, unseeing.

When it comes down to it, Adam still envies Gansey. His life, his financial security, his friendship with Ronan, his unwavering belief in magic and his quest to find it; Ronan’s unwavering faith in magic and in Gansey alike: all of it. Having a place to call home and not being afraid to return to it; the whole nine yards and then some, if he’s being honest with himself. He does not extend the full length of that honesty when pressed, but he knows a lie is not appreciated.

“It would be an easier life,” Adam had finally admitted when Gansey had finally asked if he wanted to move in to the free room Monmouth Manufacturing had to offer. It was after the first time Gansey had dropped him off at the double wide, where he'd met a fearsome Robert Parrish. It was a meeting that consequently found Adam Parrish two days out of school with matching bruises on both cheekbones. They had fought about it for a week. Gansey had sulked for _days_. Adam had almost said it would be a _safer life_ but Gansey’s words had echoed in his mind. _Safe_ as _life_.

They were all so fragile, when push came to shove. A wasp could take down Gansey easier and faster than Robert Parrish could take down Adam. That was _something_ to think about. It was all relative. Money shouldn’t matter as much as it did – he knows – but knowledge of this does little to wither away years of associating money with freedom. If he ever accepted the offer (however good-natured or kind-hearted the sentiment) he would never again be his own man. He would be Gansey's. He could not owe Gansey more than he already did.

“But it wouldn’t be _my_ life,” Adam had finished. He wasn’t sure if Gansey knew what he meant by that, but that had been the end of it. Gansey hasn’t pressed the subject again.

For that, at least, Adam is grateful.

 

...

 

Guilt tugs a bit at him as Gansey catches his gaze across the table at Nino’s later that night, wearing the same yellow sweater he wore two days ago, seemingly unwashed. It gives way for minor relief as the gap between them shortens just a hair’s breadth. He reaches over the soda waiting for him to bump Gansey's knuckles, ignoring the lingering pain that reverberates through his shoulder at the simple movement. He spends too maybe hours working to rest the smarted muscle like he should. If he winced at all, Gansey either doesn't notice or is too unwilling to fight with him again to say anything.

Ronan gives him a knowing look from the corner of Gansey’s booth, though, as if he can sense pain as easily as he does trouble. He probably can. Lord knows he's seen enough of them; they both have. Adam settles back and picks at the scab on his palm from where the lake rocks bit into his skin while he was climbing out and ignores him.

“So tell us about your waitress crisis,” Adam prompts Gansey into regaling the progress he has or hasn't made with Blue. He tries to pay attention as Gansey rambles on about how his terrible first encounter with his short, short-tempered woman, who happens to be the daughter of a psychic, was actually less terrible than his second encounter with her and how he's unsure of how it happened but he's secured a date with her regardless. Then, how he might just be in love with her.

Gansey isn't _serious_ about it but Adam still thinks it’s a ridiculous notion – _love at first sight._  In fact, all together, love seems a bit like a pipe dream. Unattainable. Though, he's sure if anyone could obtain such a thing, Gansey would be the one. He holds his tongue throughout, keeping these thoughts to himself and only asking questions where they should be asked; making non-committal noises in their rightful places.

Love is a concept that Adam Parrish does not understand. The easy way Gansey tosses it around makes it seem almost meaningless but he knows it’s not Gansey’s fault. It's not to say that Gansey doesn't mean it, either. Adam can see beyond a doubt that Gansey _believes_ in love the same way he believes in Glendower. Love for Gansey is at once complex and uncomplicated. Adam can see it in the way he looks at Henrietta; the way he speaks about his sister Helen. 

Gansey's family is a whole different species than Adam’s. They had instilled in their son early on that he was wanted, needed, unconditionally loved if nothing else.

Even Ronan grew up fiercely cared for, despite his father’s frequent absence. Adam wonders, absently, if Declan’s multiple girlfriends are a result of being Niall and Aurora Lynch’s least favourite son or if it’s just a product of Declan being a bastard. Then, if Ronan’s hatred for said girlfriends is because he knows Declan’s love is false or if it’s something else entirely.

This train of thought makes him uneasily aware of how Ronan’s gaze hasn't flickered from him for the duration of the conversation, even while he's making several slightly rude, off handed comments about Gansey’s love interest and love life alike. It is not a heavy stare but he can't bring himself to meet it for fear Ronan will find something in him that Adam can't manage to repress. He vows to be more careful with guarding his expression. Worrying Gansey is one thing - worrying Ronan is... well, pathetic.

Their pizza is demolished, all things Blue and Glendower seemingly exhausted from conversation before the subject takes aim at him.

“You know, Adam…” Gansey’s tone indicates that Adam isn’t going to like where this is going and if said tone wasn’t enough, he catches Ronan raising a brown in his peripheral.

He doesn’t know where a conversation could go that Ronan has already guessed the course of it. He does not like the idea of Gansey and Ronan discussing him behind the walls of Monmouth Manufacturing during the nights neither of them can sleep. Half because it seems self-important to think about such a thing, and half because it ~~terrifies~~ irritates him.

Adam thinks briefly back to their first formal introduction two weeks ago and the way Ronan’s eyes had held a silent challenge, the same way they do now. He takes careful attention in pretending not to notice. Curiosity is dangerous enough without a subject like Ronan Lynch to perpetually spark it. Secrets, it would seem, are some of Ronan’s finest works of art. Right above those of destruction and below those of silence. His bark is as bad as his bite and almost as lethal but his silences are something else entirely. Like his stare, those silences take apart whomever is on the other end of them and usually not in a manner one might want them to.

Anyone could, and would, say that Ronan is made up of equal parts cruel intentions and disinterest. Gansey had said once, that it wasn’t true – people just didn’t know what to make of Ronan: how to handle him without hurting themselves. Adam was starting to believe it. He was starting to wonder, with the way Ronan was looking at him now, if he even knew how to handle himself.

It takes what feels like minutes and must be closer to seconds for Gansey to finish the thought. When he does, Adam wishes he hadn't.

“...Blue mentioned one of the other waitresses thought you were mighty handsome, if you’d be so inclined to ask her out it would be a safe bet to say she’d be willing to accept the invitation. A safe bet to say, you might even enjoy yourself.” Gansey pauses, struck suddenly by a brilliant idea and a light behind his eyes that rivals the limecicle glow of the neon in the window beside them. “We could double date.”

Silence takes him hostage before his can process the situation.

_Someone is interested in him?_

Gansey is trying to set him up.

Gansey wants Adam to go on a double date with him and his waitress.

Ronan has suddenly become very interested in something in the parking lot outside their window.

It seems odd to him that he can’t figure out how all these things add up.

Someone interested in him, Gansey’s interest in his love life, Ronan’s sudden disinterest when he had seemed intent on an unnerving stare all evening.

He finds himself wanting for answers but he isn’t sure for what questions.

“Call me a safe bet, I’m betting I’m not,” Adam finally replies, sure those words aren't entirely his own but a quote from somewhere he can't place. A song, maybe. He shrugs his shoulders, almost as if to apologize, while subtly watching the tension slowly seep out of Ronan’s jaw. The aversion of his eyes ceases abruptly about half way through Adam's statement. He's not sure what that's supposed to mean but there is a humorless curve to the corner of Ronan's mouth and a new darkness behind the usual shades of blue indifference that Adam finds strangely intriguing. He makes conjures up a mental sticky note in soft yellow as a reminder to ask him about it some other time.

Gansey seems disheartened, if only silently and only for a moment, before he covers it up with further questions about whether or not Adam has his eye on anyone in particular.

This tears Adam's gaze away from Ronan instantly, as if Gansey could read what his train of thought had been heading toward.

“Can't say that I do,” He says after a beat too long, the tips of his ears flushed pink.

Gansey seems to take that for what it is, promising not to press further by changing the topic back to Glendower.

It doesn't feel like a lie, and he's not certain why he does it, but Adam decidedly ignores Ronan’s corner of the table for the rest of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a filler chapter for Gangsey relationship growth and general Adam Parrish-ness, setting up for the next chapter which should be out tomorrow! There was lots of rambling and confusion, probably. I apologize.
> 
> Feel free to follow me or direct any questions to **[dreammade](http://dreammade.tumblr.com)** or **[isntyet](http://isntyet.tumblr.com)** on tumblr if you don't feel like leaving a comment. The first is my trc  & tfc account and the latter is my personal.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and again, this work is unbeta'd and I am not really a fan of revision but I will fix mistakes as I catch them.
> 
> Any feedback is much appreciated. Have a lovely day! xx Effy.


	3. Private Property Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’re you doing after work?” 
> 
> Adam pulls his gaze from the passenger window to study Ronan’s profile, pensive. He has to be home by ten and he gets out at six today, that’s plenty of time.
> 
> “You tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same general disclaimer as before, and reminder that line breaks with " - " indicate pov change while " ... " indicates a time skip.
> 
> Reminder that this is unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own & will be fixed eventually as I catch them.
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be up a couple days ago but I haven't had time so I apologize for the wait!

**Day fifteen**.

Adam hates flying.

Ronan would know this even he didn’t hear Adam mumble it under his breath to Gansey. He can tell by the way Adam approaches the helicopter like a cautious animal, practically sniffing at it. If that wasn’t enough of a tip off, the fact that his tan skin looks pallid and clammy from a distance would be. It's obvious he's trying not to be obvious about it and failing. Ronan watches his hands shake as he tries to fasten the simple clasp of the seat belt.

He hadn’t gone the first time Gansey took Adam with him in Helen’s helicopter but from the worried expression Gansey is trying to mask now, it hadn’t been this bad, then. Not knowing what he was in for must have eased the nerves or something. It crosses his mind that Blue doesn't seem very nervous at all - though that might be due to stark comparison.

It’s too much for him to handle after a minute or two. Ronan can’t stand it anymore. It’s pathetic, really. He reaches over, swatting Adam’s hands away gingerly to fasten the buckle for him. It earns him a huff of a sigh that he thinks would be have been a _thanks_ if Adam could get enough hold on himself to form a syllable, much less a word. Ronan just nods, turning his gaze out the window. His face blood feels warmer than normal.

Ronan does not hate flying.

If anything, he wishes he could do it more. He likes the sense of danger as much as he likes the view.

The night he found Chainsaw, he had a dream that he had grown wings. Massive, black wings. Raven wings. In that dream he had flown so far above the ground that every car on the winding roads between The Barns and Henrietta had looked like the little toy car kept on his childhood dresser, right next to his bed. In that dream, the sun had set over the cattle fields and white deer had roamed over the hills into the forest surrounding the property. It had been summer in his dream world, too. There had been fireflies dotting the land below. Thousands of little light orbs flickering to each other. He had woken up breathless with nostalgia and drunk.

Gansey says something about landing into the headset that pulls his attention. He can see, before Gansey points it out, where their destination is.

A cluster of thick trees, seemingly more welcoming as well as more beautiful than the forests surrounding the creepy church, beside which is a large, elongated portrait of a white bird. _No, a raven,_ he corrects. No one has to say _coincidence_ but Adam does anyway. Of course this launches Gansey into some debate with Helen about how he has to get down there right now, _private property laws be damned_ or something but Ronan pulls the headset off, letting it rest against his collarbones and leans his head back against the seat.

His gaze, unintentionally flits over to Adam, whose headset is also abandoned around his neck. There’s a smile on his delicate features but it’s uncertain whether it’s meant for their camaraderie in ignoring the bickering Ganseys, or a symptom of knowing they’ll be back on solid ground soon. Ronan sticks his tongue out at him, regardless. Adam’s expression does something complicated like he can’t decide between laughing at the gesture or rolling his eyes but he doesn't get to do either. Blue steals his attention by tapping his arm and motioning loudly with her hands before he can settle on one. It feels like a loss. Ronan simmers a bit, peaking back out the window as they touch down.

The bitterness of his mood is short suffering, though. All animosity bleeds out of him for more heavy nostalgia and harsh curiosity. The wood reminds him again of his dream, of his homesickness, of something familiar. He can't shake the odd sensation of returning to some place important - though he can't recall his father ever bringing him here. There's a make-shift sign made out of a large rock that claims their destination is a place named Cabeswater. It doesn't  _sound_ familiar. He ignores the odd look Blue gives him, silently grateful when Gansey pulls her away to settle by a pool and determine what kind of fish live there.

It seems a rather un-extraordinary outing after that. Until about forty minutes into their exploration when Gansey stumbles upon a patch of two types of mushrooms he’s sure he’s read about somewhere. it occurs to him that Gansey is stalling, determined to take  _something more_ out of their adventure before they return to where Helen is probably already debating whether or not to leave them here.

“I assure you, these are _perfectly safe_ and _definitely edible,_ ” Gansey claims, holding out a handful of little brown ones to a skeptical Blue. “Trust me, would you, Jane.” He adds after she clicks her tongue at him doubtfully.

“I’m pretty sure those are not the kind of edible mushrooms you think they are, Gansey. I’m pretty sure those yellow top ones are a type you can eat,” Blue continues to debate with him over which is the kind of fungus used for rituals or recreation and which are for sautéing. The only thing they come to an agreement on is that neither is particularly harmful, least not toxic. Adam determines early into the argument that he’s unsure either way. Ronan, however, is nearly positive that Blue is correct but he doesn't offer a second opinion.

Instead, Ronan says: “There’s only one way to find out.” The corner of his mouth curling upwards, sharp enough to cut glass. It is an expression that spells out Bad Idea. “You eat one and I’ll eat one.”

Surprisingly – or maybe not so surprisingly considering how badly Gansey's rearing to prove a point – and much to Ronan’s amusement, Gansey complies.

He hands Ronan one of the yellow ones Blue deemed as edible, and pops one of the brown ones in his own mouth.

Twenty minutes later Ronan is fine, and Gansey crawls into a rotting tree and _swears_ he can see Glendower. This time he  _is_ hallucinating.

By the time they get back to the helicopter Helen is furious and _absolutely_ not as amused as Ronan is, nor Adam appears to be. She reams them out for allowing Gansey to be so foolish _imagine if the press found out, mom’s campaign would be over._ But just as Blue’s _I told you so_ s, it falls on defeat ears. Gansey is too busy petting the velvet sleeves of Blue’s cardigan to be properly chastened and Ronan doesn't care enough to be.

"They could have been  _toxic_ , what then?" Helen sighs as she comes to the end of her fury.

"Blue's too sensible to let us eat anything toxic," Ronan offers, bored. His attention is on the way Adam's ears have tinted pink from bearing witness to Helen's rage, and how his hands are shaking again. He manages to clasp his own buckle this time, though. Ronan glances back out the window while Blue gets Gansey settled in.

For what it’s worth, by the time they make it back to Monmouth, Helen has sworn up and down that their parents are never to find out about this anyway and Blue has volunteered to babysit until the effects wear off since Adam has work in the morning (and Ronan lays claim to the evidence that he shouldn’t be trusted with such a task).

Ronan silently hopes this doesn’t make him as bad as Kavinsky and verbally considers it a win, and then offers to give Adam a ride to work.

 

 

-

 

 

 **Day Sixteen**.

 

Adam’s chest aches when he tries to think of what Gansey and Ronan mean to him. The word **family** doesn’t quite fit. Family has always meant something different to Adam than it does to most people. Something complex. The same way that  **home** has become less of a synonym for house and more of a synonym for prison. Neither makes him feel safe.

He has difficulty trying to explain to himself what the boys of Monmouth Manufacturing have become for him.

There’s the unnerving sense that Gansey sees what he wants to see. That he sometimes looks at Adam like he’s a God given gift or an angel or something of equally too high regard. And when he doesn’t, he looks at Adam like he’s an animal that needs to be rescued. In Gansey's eyes, Adam seems to be something that will either give salvation, or needs it.

Ronan looks at Adam like he’s Adam. He does not ask him to change who he is, to be better, or worse; to stay, or leave, to be anything more than he is. All he ever asks of Adam is to own who he is, and then reminds him of who that is, when he forgets himself. Ronan maintains that Adam Parrish is a self-made man.

Maybe it seems ridiculous, especially given what he thought of Ronan Lynch through those first few months of Aglionby. It seems more ridiculous, after knowing Ronan Lynch at all, that he should have ever have held any expectations for him because he exceeds them all and then some. There is never a dull moment, never a lack of surprise, never a doubt that Ronan will be Ronan even if that means something different from day to day.

And for all of Gansey's unintentional condescension, there is also the way he unconditionally cares for people in general but especially his closest friends. There are layers to Gansey that Adam will never understand, just as there are layers to Adam that Gansey will likely never believe.

When it comes down to it, the fact that a dreamer like Ronan and a king like Gansey are his best friends; that they waste their time hanging out with Adam Parrish willingly - still surprises him.

He finds little ways to be grateful and appreciative. Fixing the Pig, teaching Gansey how to do some simple quick repairs and trying not to fight with him; accepting Ronan’s offers for rides, and allowing his steady hands to adjust a helicopter seat belt, and learning to forgive him for their fights.

It’s not nearly enough, he’s sure. Adam will always be indebted to them – but it’s a start. He's trying to be better. He's always been good at learning.

 

 

…

 

 

There isn’t much room for conversation between the usual thumping bass lines and electronic beats but the lack of it seems almost odd. Adam can tell by now that the low volume of Ronan’s speakers means something entirely different than a whole lack of stereo usage. He waits silently and patiently for whatever it is Ronan needs to say.

Half way through the drive, he finally breaks the silence.

“What’re you doing after work?”

Adam pulls his gaze from the passenger window to study Ronan’s profile, pensive. He has to be home by ten and he gets out at four today, that makes plenty of time for whatever Ronan has in mind. He doesn't contemplate whether it's a Bad Idea because he doesn't much care if it is. 

“You tell me.”

Ronan doesn’t tell him - but the slight smile that punctures his cheek is answer enough. For once the expression doesn't read danger; it almost reads  _relief_  but Adam feels the danger in it anyway.

 

 

-

 

 

Niall Lynch was a con artist and it killed him.

This is at once a secret and a fact.

One Ronan Lynch kept to himself and the other, Declan Lynch inherited.

Secrets are messy things, messier even when they are the truth. Lies are entirely separate.

Secrets are only lies by omission, whilst lies are false by nature.

The difference between the eldest and middle Lynch brother is just the same.

Ronan keeps quiet about what he knows. Declan lies.

That was that, is that, the end. Niall Lynch was gone, the Lynch brothers were no longer friends, Aurora was moved to impatient care and the family estate was empty.

It was, is, over.

Except Ronan lays awake at night, staring at the soaring ceilings of Monmouth Manufacturing while listening to the sounds of Gansey building his miniature Henrietta in the other room, and finds himself unable to cope. Even on the nights when insomnia loosens its wholesome grip The Barns haunts his dreams. Sometimes it is the sunset over the cattle fields from the view of the front porch and the faint memory of smelling homemade cinnamon buns in the kitchen. Most nights it was the empty drive, crimson still soaked into the gravel, visible from the rear view as they left home for the last time. The lawyers had shown them the will. The money was all theirs, so long as they never step foot on The Barns again. They had been instantaneously rich and homeless. Ronan is still unable to cope.

There are few things Ronan Lynch wants, and what he wants most of those few things: is to go home.

Going back to The Barns breaks about five legal limitations and is considered at least one federal crime. Gansey would never let him do it. He is far too sensible in the moments Ronan needs him not to be for that ever to be an option. Especially after the mushroom incident.

This is how he ends up leaning against the BMW in the parking lot of Monmouth Manufacturing, colouring his nails black with a sharpie marker while he waits for Adam to rinse off in the shower. He doesn’t mind the grease and the sweat and the coveralls, honestly, and it kind of felt like wasting time but he’s too anxious to fight him on it. Once he runs out of nails to defile, he inks **die XVI** on his wrist. Parrish emerges damp, smelling strongly like cheap shampoo and still faintly of gasoline as Ronan’s finishing off the last roman numeral for sixteen. He caps the marker and tosses it through the window into the back seat before getting into the driver’s seat.

Adam affords one glance at his newly minted sharpie manicure and the bleeding inked Latin peeking out from under his leather bands but says nothing about either as he opens the passenger door and climbs in. What he does ask is, “Where you taking me, Lynch?”

Ronan levels him with a look that probably reads more dangerous than it should, or perhaps as dangerous as it should and starts the car, already pulling out onto the road as he says, “Home, Parrish.”

Private property laws be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a horrible habit of not revising before I post, so if you check back in a couple hours or in a couple days the chapter will probably be updated with some new content & fixed mistakes. Whoops.
> 
> Feel free to follow me or direct any questions to dreammade or isntyet on tumblr if you don't feel like leaving a comment. The first is my trc & tfc account and the latter is my personal.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and again, this work is unbeta'd and I am not really a fan of revision but I will fix mistakes as I catch them.
> 
> Any feedback is much appreciated. Have a lovely day! xx Effy.


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